


Asylum

by Afflitto



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, content warning, mental illness and old asylum practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 22:37:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3226043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afflitto/pseuds/Afflitto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Silence Gilbert could handle, because silence meant peace, where he could squeeze bloodshot eyes shut and try to compress where his mind was cracking, like applying pressure to a wound. "</p><p>Prumano.<br/>Prompt was "Holding hands in an asylum" as part of an AU challenge.  Fic is 2 years old.</p><p>I should warn that this is set in the days of old asylums where people were thrown into asylums for reasons like being left handed, having seizures, refusing to marry etc.  It does contain mental breakdowns and mental illness resulting from living in the harsh conditions of the asylum. (ie Gilbert hallucinating).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asylum

They said that Lovino Vargas was demon possessed, and that he perhaps should be killed rather than admitted to this asylum where he could expose others to such evil.

But Gilbert Beilschmidt had demons of his own.

Gilbert had been admitted so long that he’d forgotten what sunlight was, other than a few stray slats squeezing in through a boarded up window where he huddled in the corner.  Around him pitiful whimpers and groans indicated the resting and the restless, some shackled to their beds and others spilling out with threadbare blankets onto the floor.  The smell of sickness oozed from wasted bodies and soaked deep into the straw cots and the musty air.  Feeble breaths and ragged coughing formed a harsh medley in the dark.  There was no quiet here.

Silence Gilbert could handle, because silence meant peace, where he could squeeze bloodshot eyes shut and try to compress where his mind was cracking, like applying pressure to a wound. 

_“Why am I here?”_

He wasn’t sure if he’d said anything out loud at all, but his thoughts echoed forcefully in his head.  Loud enough.

_“Because you’re a fucking psychopath--Albino left handed freak—red eyes of the devil—You don’t belong here, Gilbert.  Escape.--Kill yourself, Gilbert.”_

A cry tore from his throat.  Definitely into the open air, because the patient nearest him--a young woman committed because she refused to marry—turned lackluster eyes to him.  But did not see him.  Overwhelming loneliness coiled deep in his chest.  He felt his mind fragment further.

Gilbert wrenched his gaze to the yelp of the steel door.  Two men shrugged a limp figure onto the nearest bed.  The two women who followed, dressed in gray wool better equipped to deal with the draught than any of the rags the patients wore, stood near with a clipboard, reading vital signs as they scrawled information down.  
  
“Patient name, Lovino Vargas.  Convulsions brought from demon possession.  Exorcisms unsuccessful.  Vital signs weak.  Will not eat.”

Like they were talking about the weather.

They left.

“ _Pitiful bastard,”_  Gilbert thought.  _“He’ll be the death of us all.--Maybe he’s fine.--Is he alone?  Is he scared?  Did he have family?--I should strangle him with his own sheets to save our sorry hides—damn demons going to possess us all—dammit he looks sick as hell—will he survive here--?”_

Tangled thoughts twisted into unconsciousness.

He woke to hollow prayer and a blanket of incense overwhelming his senses.

But drifted back out with the lullaby of raw screams and the writhing of sweaty limbs in sheets nearby, while hoarse chants bit like the last of a worn-out whip. 

Gilbert woke again to sobbing.  The patient near the door—Lovino—had pushed himself upright on the bed, body trembling, hair plastered around his neck, eyes bloodshot but glazed over.  When he tried to speak, a slur of nonsense spilled out with the drool dripping down the side of his mouth.    Cuts crisscrossed his chest.  The outline of a cross had been burned into his shoulder.

“Shut him  _up_ ,” whimpered a middle aged man toward the side.

At first Gilbert thought he was speaking about him.

\--until he realized that his mind was particularly quiet.  No voices.  No arguments.  No wild limbs that grabbed for his own throat to gag him.  For the first time since they’d stuck him in the dark, no fighting for his own body.

A shaky breath emptied Gilbert.  He filled himself with a fresh lungful of air, ignoring the dank mustiness made heavy by the smoky remains of incense. 

They were still there, lurking in the back of his skull, but waiting as if stunned silent, locked in a suspense that came from hearing your own heartbeat pound in your ears.  A mix between terror and excitement ripped through him.  Red eyes gleamed back at the hazel ones watching him, unafraid but slowly fading, like the sun choked from the window as night approached.

  1.   And then, in unison:  “ ** _Protect him.”_**



Gilbert opened his mouth to speak but closed it again.  He stood and staggered toward him on legs that had long forgotten how to walk.

“I’m not demon possessed,” Lovino said.  His voice shook nearly as erratically as he did, so he gripped at the side of the bed to steady himself, and turned to face Gilbert full on.  “I have seizures, but I’m not possessed by no fucking demons.”

“At least not the devil’s kind,” Gilbert wondered out loud.  He wrapped his tongue around the next three syllables very carefully.  “Lo-vi-no.”  He paused.  “Is that right?”

A nod.  “How…did you get here?” Lovino asked.

Gilbert laughed.  Bitterly.  “You really have to ask?”  First, he pointed to his eyes, then he drew close to Lovino and raised a left hand to brush against the other’s forehead, expecting him to shrink back.  “Red eyed and left-handed?  Double fuck-up turn of events right there.  Not to mention pale-ass skin and a general shitty attitude.”  
  
Lovino nodded.  “What’s your name?”

“Gilbert.”  Another pause.  “You’re the first person here who’s even been coherent to talk with me.”  
  
Exhausted, Lovino muddled through a yawn, and leaned back against his pillow.  “Maybe not for long.  Shit.  This place fucking sucks.  I want to go _home_.”

“This is home now,” Gilbert answered.  He raised that same left hand hesitantly, as if waiting permission to brush Lovino’s hair from his face—which came in the form of a small nod. He did so gingerly, surprised by the heat on sweat-sheened skin, which would have been a beautiful tan if not for the agony he was in.  Auburn curls twisted a crown around his brow more angelic than demonic.  “As fucked up as that is.  And it’s going to get worse.”

Lovino blanched. 

Gilbert realized he’d said the wrong thing.

“I-it’s just a fact of life, here, don’t fucking worry about it.  They—they think in their self-righteous little heads that anything that doesn’t go according to their ideals needs ‘fixing’—and they’ll fucking try at the expense of your health and your sanity.”  All the voices in his head melted into one slurry of panic that sloshed together from his lips as a unified stream.  “And they might fucking torture you ‘for you own good’, but eventually they’ll get tired of it when they see that nothing they do will make you their definition of acceptable, because they ended up fucking you up even worse.  Then someone new will come along to entertain them and you get to sit here in peace, at the point where they realize ‘off the streets’ is as good as they can do with you--“

The whimper from Lovino’s throat was like that of a child.  He began to shake more violently than before, until he forced himself to burrow into the vomit-stained pillow and curl beneath his covers.  “I can’t stay here.  I’m going to fucking die.  This isn’t fair.”

“I’ll protect you,” Gilbert whispered.  He lifted the corner over the blanket and pried one of Lovino’s clammy fists open to insert his own hand.  The warmth of human contact seared through him.  He squeezed tighter.

“Why…?” Lovino’s voice was muffled.

“I don’t know,” Gilbert said.

“I just know that if I hold tight enough, maybe you’ll hold on too.”

_Maybe you won’t end up like me._


End file.
